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Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. “Can he mean ‘prodigy,’ do you think, May Nell?” Edith’s eyes were mischievous. Max furnished the milk. “I haf gif mine cow much sugar to make dot milk sweet for Pilly to-day,” he explained happily to Mrs. Bennett..

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Mrs. Bennett continued her gentle, even strokes; bent and kissed him softly before replying. “Duty looks narrow only when it opposes inclination, my child. Selfish people hate duty; but those who live the longest and best lives could tell you that every victory duty wins brings an ever-increasing joy.” “Would you like to live in the city?” “Never mind Jobie, we want Jethro to win anyway, don’t we?” said Betty, presenting to the turkey her pocket filled with grain. “It’s time Billy was at home,” he heard his mother say as he opened her room door; and he stumbled on more hurriedly, across the bridge—at last, the Fo’castle!.